


Usually Insulting

by Jelly



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jelly/pseuds/Jelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She calls him a lot of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Usually Insulting

**Usually Insulting**

She calls him a lot of things.

x

_Lazy._

He probably deserves that one – he  _is_  lazy – who can blame him though? Paperwork is boring, and stupid and a waste of precious resources (like time and trees and energy) – and you know? Who needs paperwork? It's just written proof that stuff happened, and who reads that stuff  _really?_

"Sir."

Roy winces. She's giving him that look again. It's that same look his foster-mother used to give him when he was a child – that firm, level glare that made him feel like a misbehaving juvenile, caught red handed with his fingers in the cookie jar. Honestly, he's not sure what he'd rather face right now – the  _look_  or his paperwork.

He takes his chances with the paperwork.

"You're a bully, Lieutenant," he mumbles childishly, refusing to look her in the eye.

"Your point, sir?"

"I'm your commanding officer."

She scoffs. "And I'm simply rescuing you from overtime, sir. I still fail to see your point."

She's still giving him that look.

(When he had drunkenly confessed to Maes the other night about wishing his First Lieutenant had eyes only for him, this wasn't what he meant).

_x_

_Absent-minded_

He supposes he can give her that one too. At this point in his life, it's literally just a thing he does now. He practically just  _gives_  the universe excuses to jab at his dignity.

It's early on a Wednesday morning and right now, he just lacks the capacity to  _do anything_ , let alone care that his coffee is teetering on the edge of his desk.

"Sir."

What? Is he in trouble already?  _Seriously?_  He peers at her over the top of the first of today's many,  _many_ files and attempts to make it look like he was actually concentrating. (Who is he kidding? She knows him better than anyone – and she knows bull when she sees it – especially if he's the one trying to pull it off).

"Lieutenant," he says levelly.

(At least she's not giving him that  _look_ ).

"Your coffee," she says shortly.

Roy pauses and closes the file momentarily to find his mug of steaming coffee is one nudge away from being knocked over and spilling hot, recently-boiled liquid all over his crotch. His eyes widen a fraction and he moves it away hastily.

Well, what can he say? She's been looking out for him for so long, he can't really help that he's gotten complacent.

_x_

_Useless_

It was  _one time_. So his ego had gotten the better of him  _once_ , so what? It's not like that kind of thing happens  _all_  the time.

(Even though it kind of does, but he'll never admit that out loud. She has more than enough ammunition to use against him already).

It was raining that day, okay? The serial killer, Scar, had literally been inches away from ending the life of Edward Elric – what was he supposed to do? The situation had called for action and he wasn't about to let a little rain get in the way of stopping a murder. The man had just challenged him – backing down was just not on option at the time.

(Even though yes, yes it was. He doesn't like admitting that either).

"So you know who I am and you still want to fight me?" He'd almost laughed. "You fool!"

"Sir!"

This part is blurry (probably because this is his sixth bottle of beer), but he remembers the sequence of events like this: his fingers snapped but something hit the back of his knees and suddenly the world was horizontal. Dimly, he recalls Scar's hand sailing over the top of his nose as he fell backward in slow motion and it wasn't until his ass hit the ground that the world sped up again.

Hawkeye was crouched in front of him, pistols aimed and firing at the assailant and when, finally, his mouth had regained the ability to work, he'd yelled: "Hey, Hawkeye, what the hell did you do  _that_  for?"

Her response had been, "You're useless in wet weather, sir, please stay back!"

Roy groans and downs another drink.

Beside him, Maes is roaring with laughter and making terrible puns about 'falling' in love.

_x_

_Idiotic_

Now that one is going a little too far.

Yes, he's lazy, and absent-minded, and yes, he  _can_  be useless on the occasion, but he is, by no means, an idiot, and he'll stand by that one no matter what. He'll even stake an entire day's pay on it.

Roy Mustang is not, nor has he ever been, an idiot.

"Sir."

He blinks, trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the overly bright sunlight (is sunlight usually  _this_ bright? He wonders). "Hawkeye?" he manages, squirming a little in a poor attempt to sit up. "What happened?"

She raises an eyebrow at him, and even in his nearly, almost-dead state of mind, he can tell she's amused.

Well, great. Just  _great_.

"You decided to have a couple of drinks with Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, sir," she deadpans, shoving a mug of coffee into one hand a plate of burnt toast into his other.

"What day is it?"

She snorts. "Saturday, sir. Drink up. It'll help that hangover."

He does as he's told and nearly chokes on the exceedingly bitter coffee. "How long have you been here?"

Hawkeye rolls her eyes at him. "The barkeeper called me at around three this morning. I've been here since."

Roy grimaces, placing the toast and coffee on the nightstand so he can untangle his legs from his blankets. "You're a miracle, Hawkeye," he mumbles. "Have I ever told you that?"

"Only every time you're hungover, sir," she says dryly, moving to help him.

"No, like, an actual miracle." He coughs. "This is the fourth time you've saved my idiot ass this week."

She chuckles. "I'm glad you're coming to terms with being an idiot, sir," she tells him, slinging his arm around her shoulders and helping him hobble his way to the bathroom. "But you're welcome."

Inwardly, he scowls. An entire day's pay isn't worth it. Perhaps he'll just ask her to dinner.

(And maybe this week, she'll only have to save his idiot ass once or twice).

_x_


End file.
